


Just Once

by infernalandmortal



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Self-Hatred, mention of physical pain, mention of physical trauma, self-punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 04:03:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12449295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infernalandmortal/pseuds/infernalandmortal
Summary: She holds it together until nightfall, when John admits her idea to leave and travel alone was better and they flee Polis. She holds it together until the pain and the guilt and the fear catch up to her, crashing over her like a sandstorm, overwhelming her to the point where she’s not sure she can take another step.She stops, stares at John’s back, takes deep, measured breaths, feels her lips tremble, wills herself to be strong, to protect him from all the feelings she has no right to feel.You left him, you coward, she tells herself.You hurt him. You hurt him, and you have no damn right to feel anything but sorrow for what you put him through. You deserve this pain.





	Just Once

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr for the dialogue prompt "just once." Here there be angst.
> 
> Un-betaed; all mistakes are my own.

Everything hurts.

Emori doesn’t know what she expected - she was in a world without pain for God knows how many days and she knows she wasn’t kind to her body then. She doesn’t remember clearly what happened, but there’s a wound on her back that’s oozing blood, a numbness in her left arm and hand she suspects came from the electric shock in the flooded hallway, and a throbbing in her head that won’t subside no matter how hard she tries to will it away.

She holds it together until nightfall, when John admits her idea to leave and travel alone was better and they flee Polis. She holds it together until the pain and the guilt and the fear catch up to her, crashing over her like a sandstorm, overwhelming her to the point where she’s not sure she can take another step.

She stops, stares at John’s back, takes deep, measured breaths, feels her lips tremble, wills herself to be strong, to protect him from all the feelings she has  _no right_ to feel.

 _You left him, you coward,_ she tells herself.  _You hurt him. You hurt him, and you have no damn right to feel anything but sorrow for what you put him through. You deserve this pain._

She has always been the protector. It’s not out of any failings on John’s behalf; it’s simply that she understands the way the world of thieves and fugitives works and he doesn’t. So he lets her call the shots, provide protection and food and stake out good hiding spots. She holds him up and he has her back.

Right now, she can’t do it. She knows this, but she still forces herself to set aside the searing pain in her back, the ache in her head, and take one more step, then another and another.

“Emori?” John has stopped too, looking back at her over his shoulder, shifting the stolen gun in his hand. “You coming?”

She realizes she’s stopped again. She also realizes there are tears rolling down her cheeks, and that she’s sucking in shallow breaths that aren’t doing her very much good.

“Emori?” he asks again, jogging the few paces to her side. “Emori, what’s wrong?”

She presses her lips together, shakes her head. John sighs, lifts her arm to wrap around his shoulder. “Come on. The cave’s not far from here.”

He limps her to one of their old hiding places. The furs they left bundled in the corner are still there, as is the spit she used to use to cook their meals. She feels a stab in her heart when she remembers a certain activity they partook in on those furs.

She’s still waiting for him to leave her. How could he love her after what she did, after she spit in the face of the love he had for her? How could he forgive her after what his people had done to her too?

He leaves her side to spread the furs out on the ground. She steps outside, gathering wood for a fire in the waning twilight, cursing herself for her weakness.

When she returns, John is waiting. “Emori.” His voice is soft. It makes her want to collapse into his arms and let him hold her until everything stops aching.

But she can’t. She owes him her strength.

“Yeah?” she asks, not looking at him as she begins to start a fire. The wound on her shoulder stings. She feels a warm trickle of blood begin a trail down her back.

The twig she’s using crackles as a fire whooshes to life. In a matter of moments, a hearty blaze lights up the cave. The cuts on John’s face stand out stark against his pale cheeks.

“Talk to me,” he whispers, kneeling in front of her, tilting her chin up with two fingers so she has to look at him.

She feels her eyes fill with tears.  _I’m sorry,_ she thinks and then, out loud, “It  _hurts_.”

John frowns. “What does? Are you okay?”

“I-” she clamps her mouth shut as a sob escapes her. She’s tired, in pain, and so, so ashamed. “John, I’m-”

“Shh,” he soothes her, reaching for her, helping her stand. “Come lay down, okay?” He kicks off his boots, then kneels before her to untie hers. She almost says something, but his fingers are too quick. She numbly steps out of them and lets him guide her to the bed.

They lay facing one another, her still-numb left arm limp against her side. She’s still crying, shaking, and she can’t stop no matter how hard she tries. She bites her tongue, the inside of her cheek, and tastes blood.

“I’m sorry,” she says after a moment. “I hurt you, I left you, and I can’t even-” she coughs and her back screams in agony. Her head is pounding so hard she can barely think. “I can’t even be strong for you, even after everything you went through in Polis.”

She looks up at him. “Just once,” she whispers, “please. Help me. It hurts, John, and I can’t- I can’t make it stop. I won’t ask for it again, I won’t-”

“Emori, stop,” he says softly and she flinches, sure that he’s going call her weak and walk away. “You can always ask. Hell, I want you too. I’m in this with you. But I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, okay?”

She closes her eyes, feels another tear run down her cheek. He wipes it away. “So what is it?”

“My head,” she conceeds with a pained groan, then winces as a bolt of pain lances through her. She feels John’s cool fingers on her temples, gently turning her head so he can get better leverage. He applies even pressure, moving his fingers in small circles, and it feels so damn good she can’t help but whimper in relief.

She feels his fingers trembling. “What’s wrong?” she asks softly, her voice detached, weary from pain.

“You were going to suffer alone,” he murmurs. “You wouldn’t have told me.”

She hears him sniff and her heart breaks. “I didn’t want to hurt you more. I hurt you enough.”

“Emori, I forgave you the second I came to you in Polis,” he says. “You didn’t hurt me. We’re okay.” She grits her teeth against the love in his voice. “Please. Let me take care of you.”

She lets out a quiet moan when his fingers find a pressure point. “I’m wounded,” she tells him, voice barely audible above the crackling of the fire. “My shoulder. And I can’t feel my left arm.”

“I’ll look at that,” he promises her. “For now, just let yourself rest. I’ve got you, Mori.”

She sighs, reaching up to wrap her right hand around his wrist. He bends down and kisses her cheek, then keeps chasing her pain away until she falls into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
